Crushed
by Day of January
Summary: Every couple goes through heartbreak. Ayuzawa/Usui. One-shot.


Blowing through the open window lazily, the breeze tickled her cheeks lightly as if it were teasing her. Ayuzawa brushed her bangs out of her eyes, sighing quietly. Though no one would ever take her for a dependent and weak person, she couldn't help but feel a boulder in her chest—she missed him terribly. But she couldn't let that be known. It would only cause her roommate to worry. God knows Erica was like an older sister to her, but she could obsess over the smallest, most irksome ideas. Ayuzawa recalled the last conversation she had with the black haired dog trainer was about fleas and whether they were poisonous.

Chuckling to herself, she pushed the black, foldable chair away from the frail wooden desk before her. A loud creak sounded in her bedroom as the metal protested against the hardwood floor. Wash the mountain of dishes in the sink, do the rest of Aoi's laundry, go grocery shopping to restock the refrigerator: these errands would fill the rest of her day off. God knows how long she spent daydreaming about her blond beau. Stretching out her limbs, Ayuzawa smiled at the thought of her boyfriend going grocery shopping with her. _Didn't he show me how to make fried rice that time? _

However, before she could stroll out of her bedroom, her cell chirped excitedly; the sounds came from under her four-poster bed. Diving under the mattress, Ayuzawa retrieved her dinky, scratched phone. With a jolt of pleasure, she realized that Usui had texted her. She flicked her phone open quickly, uncharacteristically giddy.

There was no subject. She clicked the message.

Pictures.

It was blurry and distorted but she could still make out what it was. A close up, as if the person in the picture had been the one to take it. The picture was tilted to the left, and the blond boy's face filled most of the screen. Beside the blond boy was an unknown girl with red hair. She was kissing him fully on the lips.

If she didn't swear she'd recognize those green eyes anywhere, she probably wouldn't have started tearing up.

* * *

He was studying abroad in New York City. He had sworn that he would return and they would finish where they had left off. He had never stopped emailing her, calling her, telling her he loved her.

Just goes to show that bastards are the ones that make big promises—huge, Godzilla sized promises that they can't possibly fulfill.

* * *

Erica rubbed her back while Aoi continued to rapidly spew curses. Erica had already told Aoi to go shove it ("No one cares that you hate Usui-kun, you friggin' chipmunk!") but the little cross dresser continued to mope in the corner and insult Ayuzawa's boyfriend.

Actually, soon to be ex-boyfriend.

Ayuzawa was under her sheets—she couldn't bear to allow Erica and Aoi to see her in her most vulnerable state: swollen eyes and lips, bright red nose, blubbering mouth. Still, Erica and Aoi could hear the periodical shaking sighs and quiet sniffles. There was no point in hiding her tears from her best friends but she did so anyway.

"It's okay," she spoke quietly after many long moments of silence. Her breath came out even and shallow. "I love him. I can't deny it."

* * *

_Two days later…_

Poking at something murky yellow in the pan, she winced at her effort to cook. Who was she kidding? She couldn't cook for her life. Shrugging in defeat, Ayuzawa scooped the blackened scrambled eggs into her bowl of rice. Nothing occupied her mind at that moment; the minute she lost this peaceful ignorance would be the minute she would start the waterworks. As if that would bring him back to her. All she could do now was to concentrate on her schoolwork and become the best damn surgeon in Japan.

Shoveling the first spoonful into her mouth, she grimaced but still continued to eat. Her clothes limply hung off her usually sturdy frame. Only two days of no meals and already she was reduced to a pile of dust and dirt. How pitiful.

Forth spoonful.

God, she knew she was much of a cook, but these eggs were really loathsome. How the hell did she manage to create this concoction? Gagging a bit, she plugged her nose and closed her eyes, scooping in another mouthful. Then, a voice croaked behind her.

"I can make you something if that's so hard to eat."

Freezing mid-chew, Ayuzawa dropped her spoon into her plate with a clatter. Clenching her eyes tightly, she refused to open them. Now, she was hallucinating. Usui, her cheating bastard of a boyfriend who decided to break up with her on the freakin' _phone_, was not in her kitchen. He was in New York, probably eating brunch at a hip coffee shop with that stupid little red head. Psh, as if she cared. He could go choke on his mocha latte coffee!

Coarse, blister filled hands slid over hers and clutched to them tightly. So tightly it hurt. Now she knew she was hallucinating. Usui had the smoothest hands in the world because he never did a stitch of work. She had always teased him about it. A tear broke through her barrier of eyelashes and raced down her blotched, red cheeks. Another coarse hand touched her cheek.

She hated this illusion. It touched her like she would break. It touched her like it was in pain. It touched her like…

"Please open your eyes. I…God, Ayuzawa…"

This was an illusion because Usui's voice never ever cracked. It didn't croak. It never sounded like it hasn't been used for days. It didn't struggle to escape his throat.

"That picture's not what is seems to be."

Did his real breath smell so sweet? Did his real breath come out shallow and deep at the same time, as if he were racing to get his words out?

"It's fake. Okay? It's all fake."

A sob choked her, and she coughed out a chuckle. Burying her head in the cave of her arms, she felt him stroke her hair. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bear to break this dream.

"Please look at me."

What the hell. Why not? A dream should give her some satisfaction.

She straightened up and raised her head.

His hair was sticking up in all directions. His clothes were rumpled and dirty. There was even an unknown stain at his right knee. He was wearing her scarf—the scarf she had given him for Christmas. The scarf that smelled like her.

And his green eyes were just as red rimmed as hers.

"Let me hit you. Once," she whispered. He nodded slowly. He wasn't mulling it over. He was just tired. Raising her fist, she summoned all the anger and grief that had plagued her these past two days…then she felt it all slip away when she saw him smile lightly at her. That little crooked half-smirk reserved just for her. Smiling apologetically, he gestured to the open box on the kitchen table.

"You have Pocky."

Her fist dropped. An exhausted smile graced her face. Rubbing her eyes, she knew for certain that those blisters on his hands had to do with her. Somehow, Pocky told her that. Maybe it was because he remembered something from so very long ago, during high school. Maybe it was because she remembered it too.

He scooped her up into him arms then, and she dug her nails into his back—just for good measure. Yes, they kissed. Yes, it was meaningful (because it meant she got her cook back), and salty (because of her hiccup filled sobs) and deliriously happy (because of obvious reasons) and just right; it was full of new, gigantic Godzilla sized promises that Usui would definitely, absolutely fulfill.

_I don't own Pocky. _


End file.
